


like a burst of chewing gum

by kuro49



Series: jason rare pair challenge [10]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Bottom Jason Todd, Creampie, Jason Todd is Robin, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:50:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22404424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: Slade formally meets the boy under the second Robin mask. He also fucks him too.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne/Slade Wilson, Jason Todd/Slade Wilson
Series: jason rare pair challenge [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1409680
Comments: 20
Kudos: 240
Collections: Jason Rare Pair Challenge





	like a burst of chewing gum

**Author's Note:**

> happy lunar new yeaaaar. 
> 
> i've been meaning to write this one since p much right after hard candy buuuuuut i never did ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ so here it is...like 6mo and 9 other jason rarepair fics later 😂

With a forged invitation embossed in gold, Slade Wilson steps out of the humid sweltering heat of an early summer evening. 

Through the front doors, and into the belly of Wayne Manor itself, he is swallowed up in extravagance: Wine red curtains draping to the immaculate marble floors, tables lining the far wall stacking high up with delicate finger foods while people dressed to the nines are waltzing through the grand hall with music in the air. It's a party in full swing.

Dressed up under the lights and the expansive space of the gala, it’s almost easy to forget that this is still Gotham under all the guise. He supposes the disconnect is made easier when all of this exists so far from the realities of what Gotham truly is. Plenty of people come to her for business, and just as many come for the special kind of debased pleasure that Gotham drags to the table like a fresh kill ready for gutting. 

But only he comes for the bird watching. 

And like the cat that ate the canary and licked the cream clean from the bowl, Slade scans the room to find the little birdie that’s kept him coming back: Robin 2.0. 

By the dessert table with his mouth wrapped around the plump part of a chocolate covered strawberry, he bites down for juices to spill across his lips. If Slade hasn't seen him without his domino mask and moaning like a pro beneath him, he might have almost missed the kid from among the crowd. Out of the signature bright red, yellow, and obnoxious green of his night time uniform, the kid looks normal in a tailored shirt and shorts, a lopsided bow tie at his throat and matching suspenders pulled taut.

The kid also looks bored out of his fucking mind. 

It's probably a good thing when Slade has a few remedies for that.

Careful and measured, Slade circles the room. He doesn’t want to spoil any of the fun before it can even start when Daddybats is barely fifty feet away from where the little Robin stands perched.

“You don’t look like you’re having too much fun, kid.” Slade comments, and he doesn’t get the pleasure of seeing Robin jump but it is still a visible shiver that runs bodily down Robin’s back. His black curls whipping around as he turns his head to find Deathstroke to stand right next to him.

“ _Slade._ ” Robin breathes out, and it sounds a lot like awe.

And this here is trouble through and through, the way fear doesn't cross his mind.

“Hello Jason. It's been a while.” 

But Slade has to say, he likes the measure of trepidation in the kid, the way his gaze fleets to Bruce Wayne before coming back to Slade, wide blue eyes all starry bright tracking Slade's wrist as he reaches out and snags a flute of champagne from a server walking by. He takes an easy sip.

Like this, polished and all cleaned up, Slade Wilson fits right in with the kind of people that attends exactly these kinds of functions, looking near indistinguishable from half of the small crowd gathered around Bruce aside from the stark black eye patch over his right eye.

“Wanna go somewhere quiet to do a bit of catching up, lil’bird?”

The kid, Robin— _Jason’_ s heart damn near skips a beat in the face of Slade’s smirk. Like he’s already sprawled out naked underneath the bulk of this man standing next to him, quick on his feet and even quicker when it comes to the wicked things they've already done in the dark, Jason's mouth curves with enthusiasm.

“I think I've got just the place for that.” Jason takes Slade’s hand in his, pulling him through the crowd so they can leave out a side door left opened by a sliver, walking them both into the rest of the manor where the music goes near silent. 

Robin doesn’t talk, and Deathstroke doesn't make small talk, just follows where the kid leads while he traces an incomplete map of Wayne Manor inside of his head. Jason brings Slade into a sitting room where there is a grand piano by the windows, books lining the shelves on one wall while an unlit fireplace is situated on the opposite end.

"Missed me?" Slade asks, amused when Jason doesn't let go of his hand even as he is closing the door behind them.

Jason’s smile never even falters before a laugh is bubbling over, answering him almost like he's the one to indulge Slade. "Something like that, Deathstroke."

Slade is many things, none of them good. A laugh like _that_ though, he doesn't resist.

Slade takes the last swig of champagne from his flute before he is setting it aside. Turns his palm out from the loose hold of their hands to swipe an arm under Jason's ass, settling the other at the boy's lower back while he fits his mouth over his. He is picking the kid up bodily from off the ground, feeling the sharp inhale let out in surprise, and then he is kissing him with an open mouth.

It forces Slade to imagine how the press of his tongue probably feels so much more to the boy when dragged against the edges of his canines to push in between Jason’s lips, forcing him to gasp around how thoroughly he’s put through the wringer with this one kiss alone, burst of tart bitter bubbles all across the tip of his tongue as he shares the taste. 

"No good?" Slade asks when he pulls back to catch the displeasure scrunching up Jason's expression. The kid is set down on top of the grand piano, cheeks flushed pink, mouth parted and breathing hard to catch his breath. He has one hand bracing behind him, marring the shiny lacquered surface with the smears of his fingerprints.

“I think," Jason answers, swiping his tongue across his mouth, tasting the lingering tang of alcohol there all bitter and sharp, "I’d rather have a taste of something else.”

A spread of his thighs and there is not one bit of hesitation in the simple movement.

The kid waits that half second like a very good boy for Slade to come to him, fitting right in between before he is reaching for Slade's belt, fingers dragging over the leather to trace the silver glint bouncing off of the buckle. The initiative is darling and a little daring too, Slade likes it without doubt, the way Jason is so eager.

When his hands reach for Jason, he can feel the heat the kid radiates with from beneath his clothes, center of his palms like a very solid weight.

“Me too.” He tells him.

It's a very nice feeling. One that only amplifies as Jason works the strap of his suspenders off his own shoulders, lets the bands drop around his waist before he is lifting up his hips so Slade can slip his shorts down over his thighs and then completely off. The kid's underwear is damp where the head of his cock beads precum into the fabric. Slade's gaze is deliberate as he lingers there to ask with a smirk, quoting the kid back at him. "Something like _that_?"

Jason bites down on his bottom lip to fight a grin, fails miserably when he reaches out to palm Slade's erection through the fabric of his pressed dress pants, and it makes the man groan a little with the teasing pressure. 

"Still looks like you missed me more." Jason answers because he can feel how Slade fills out between his fingers, how hard he is already, and more importantly, how good he will feel when he is fucking him raw, pressing all the way inside, and feeling even bigger. 

Slade's eye tracks the boy's every move as he pulls off the bow tie and undoes the buttons of his own shirt, one at a time, almost torturing Slade with how slow he goes when he fumbles a little too. "So now you're a tease as well." Slade remarks as he loosens his skinny black tie, keeps himself busy so he doesn’t reach over and rip the shirt on Jason cleanly into shreds.

Jason just laughs at that, his head tilting back to have the sound fill the room. "I'm a lot of things you don't know, Deathstroke." 

Robin's lingering smile reminds Slade why he comes back to this shit hole of a city to play such a stupidly dangerous game right within the closest ring of Batman's territory.

Slade is a meta, not an immortal.

Hard to kill, not unkillable.

But then again, here’s what’s hard to believe: Batman is only human. And Slade intends to take full advantage of that, feeling like he’s already halfway there with Jason making the loveliest noises in the space that barely exists between them. The kid’s mouth is a perfect _oh_ , lips bitten to a bubble gum pink, trouble like a fire all lit up in those eyes, blinking slowly up at him. He’s panting and Slade drinks all of it down, edge of his teeth to the underside of Jason’s jaw, scraping against the salt across skin.

“You all ready for me, kid?”

“Mmhmm.” 

The boy burns a little hotter, almost feverish where Slade slides his palms against the inside of those thighs. There’s nothing but bare skin, not even freckles, unlike the scatter of them across his bony shoulders and down the curve of his arms when Jason is reaching out to wind them around the back of Slade’s neck. Pulling him closer until Slade is tilting his head down to kiss him again. Answering his every whim, swapping spit with the soft plush push of his tongue.

Jason tastes like something sweet when he is groaning Slade’s name over and over again in between every exhale as he presses two fingers inside of him, testing the way this body under his simply gives. 

Jason is needy and Slade doesn't mind being what he needs. It’s a craving presented on a silver platter, one that Slade intends to fill until he is completely full to bursting. 

A sweep of black. A looming shadow all on its own. 

A man’s voice cuts through the heat of the room created by Slade and the little Robin beneath him. There is an air of menace that expands and expands within the space to press along every last crevices of the place because when has the man ever been just that: A man.

"Get away from him."

When Bruce Wayne steps into the room, he comes in dragging the shadow of the Bat right behind him. 

He looks the part of Brucie, billionaire playboy with barely half a brain in him, hair falling out of the way his stylist had it slicked back, touch of lipstick across his cheek, just that perfected level of dishevelment where he could step right out of this room and not be questioned one bit about what he could’ve been doing. Except it is all Batman when every last strand of muscle fibers to make up the Dark Knight of Gotham is coiled for a brutal dirty fight.

His voice is ice down their spines, the glare in those blue eyes lighting up with a promise for a world of pain. If it was anyone else, it would be a single precarious moment. But here is Slade Wilson, _Deathstroke,_ and he breaks it like a lousy choke hold.

“You talkin’ to the kid or me?” Slade pulls back, barely a breath's distance apart from the spit-shined red of Robin's mouth, all bitten and kiss-swollen. “Because that’s going to be kind of hard to do either way.”

“You get away from my _son_.”

Slade barks out a laugh, something vicious before he groans, guttural and entirely for show when he drags it long and low just to tell Bruce. “And like I said, kind of hard to do with your baby boy squeezing down on me so tightly.”

The Bat doesn’t reply. 

He doesn't get to when Jason interrupts them with a soft rough break to that single syllable.

“ _B_.”

Jason is splayed out over the top of the grand piano in the sitting room, almost entirely naked aside from the sock garters just below his knees, the white socks they hold up, and only one of his shoes still on. Everything else is left scattered around them in a neat little ring of incrimination, leaving nothing to the imagination, rendering all of the best detective's detecting skills moot when handed the truth so simply.

And if Bruce Wayne can bear to look close enough, there are goosebumps across Jason's skin, flushing the prettiest pink, peak of his nipples standing out looking particularly puffy while a circle of Slade's teeth is left imprinted around one, _and_. 

Slade balls deep inside of him.

“Don’t make him go, B.” Jason reaches out to his mentor with one hand, and if it is conviction Batman has always lacked, a lie all on its own, but the man seems to be in a habit of continuously lying to himself to deny all the things he wants like a bad, _bad_ hit.

There is still one thing Bruce Wayne cannot win against, and that is precisely his Robin asking him for anything at all. It is also the fact that it isn’t so much that Jason is asking as it is the boy pleading.

" _Please._ "

It’s a sticky, tacky enclosing feeling, like cement being set with Bruce within the gray, like he’s doing something horribly wrong if the grin on Slade's face is a good reflection. Here are all of his shortcomings unraveling at their feet when Bruce is already taking those final steps closer. A sigh escapes Jason’s mouth, one that softens into something quieter, breathier, lingering like a kitten’s mewl when it is Bruce’s to wrap around Jason’s outstretched hand. 

"How sweet.” Slade croons, his hand bracing just below one of Jason’s knees, a simple shove upwards and he’s got the kid’s thighs spreading even further apart for him. A gasp from the boy, a growl from the man, and Slade’s grin brandishes teeth. “That’s right, Wayne. Don't make me _go_."

When he nudges forward, the taunt dissipates with the sob Jason lets out at the way Slade is pushing right up against the end of his passage. Slade appreciates it, a turn of his head and he is rubbing the scratchy edge of his beard against the inside of Jason’s knee, gets the kid clenching down like a vice around him. Toes curling within his socks, one heel digging into the mercenary’s shoulder, and Jason is having a hard time keeping his heavily-lidded eyes open even a crack when everything inside of him feels like he’s shaped to Slade’s cock. 

Jason only knows to return the kiss being pressed to his mouth, an instinctual reaction by opening up the widest he can, to allow the push of tongue inside. 

Jason knows Slade’s kisses, and this is not him. Especially not with Slade chuckling an arm’s length away to announce: “I could get used to this.” 

It is Bruce, and the man pulls back an inch from the slack curve of Jason’s mouth to bite out. “ _Don’t._ ” 

The warning sits between the two men like a sharpened blade. One that Slade has no qualms to back away from when he’s getting even more than he originally came for. Slade gets a show that he also gets to touch and taste. Heat in his eye when he watches the way Batman turns back to his Robin so he can kiss the boy again. 

The Bat is unlike what Slade expects. The firm line of his mouth pressing hard and near bloodless, not careful or sweet or even gentle, his kisses are all consuming when it’s looking more parts like an adamant apology than a prayer made in reverence. Jason arches up, spine a near impossible angle, pushing back like he’s repeating _I forgive you_ in return. 

Slade watches them kiss each other sick. 

They take turns.

And there is probably something like a fight that goes over the top of Jason's head but he is too busy feeling overwhelmed to catch any of it. He is pinned between them, Slade’s hand squeezing down around his hip while his legs are wrapped around Bruce’s waist, heels digging into the small of his mentor’s back to keep him from going any further than he has to. 

Bruce's cock smears precum along his taint before he is pushing inside. Jason relishes in how differently Bruce fits inside of him in contrast to the way Slade does. A couple of thrusts that have him clutching to Bruce's forearms and it’s quite the surprise when he doesn’t draw any blood with the full drag of gravity impaling him all the way back down to the root of Bruce’s erection each time he pulls back.

Neither one of them are asking for permission and that’s just the way Jason wants it when he can hardly get anything past a whimper out from between the clench of his teeth as they take turns putting it inside of him.

When Slade nudges at his hole with the head of his cock, Bruce draws back with a grunt until he can pull out completely, and Jason doesn’t get a moment to even whine over the loss before Slade is fucking into him, filling him right back up. 

It’s an embarrassingly wet squelch each time they switch. 

Jason feels sore between the legs, worked over and aching something good, all of it so desperately wanted that he could cry a little.

Slade keeps tipping his chin up and then all the way back to kiss him from behind while Bruce buries his face into the crook of his neck. He can feel it in the hot moist breaths ghosting over his sweaty skin, the lingering ache of love bites nipped to bloom all over him like the deliberate press of a thumb into his pressure points. 

He gets shushed with a bite to the swollen edge of his bottom lip when he tries to ask for both of them at the same time. Slade is amused while Bruce just looks like he’s having a very hard time with denying Jason any of this. 

“As nice as that'd look, I’m not in the habit of breaking my toys,” Slade reaches under him and rubs the tip of one thick digit against his rim where he is stretched out impossibly wide around Bruce’s girth already, “and _you_ kid _,_ you’re definitely gon' break if we try that.”

Slade doesn’t push his finger in alongside Bruce's cock like Jason wishes he would, and he makes sure the man knows when he whines in response, shifts his hips too, which only gets Bruce to groan in warning. 

“Come in me then?” 

“What’d I tell you that you’ve gotta say?” Slade asks, reaches around with one hand to run his palm up Robin's throat, up and up and up until he can press two fingers into his mouth.

“P-please.” Jason says around the digits in between his lips, tasting salt across his tongue, the edge of nail scrapping gently against his hard palate. Jason blinks nice and slow, sucks at them long and hard, hollows out his cheeks too for Bruce before popping off to say. “Wanna feel you both please.”

Jason holds himself completely pliant for them, lets them bounce him up and down and in between them, switching off just when they are close to filling him up properly. Greedily swallows down every last inch they feed inside of him. Jason isn’t sure what it is about his request that is appealing to his sex-addled hindbrain. All he knows is how he wants the two of them to fill him with their seed, leave him feeling warm and wet and messy long after they pull out. 

When Jason comes, he comes untouched, his orgasm hitting him almost blindsided. 

He leaves a streak of white up across his belly, feels it smear against the front of Bruce’s wrinkled dress shirt almost as an afterthought when Slade is coming too. Pressed inside of him all the way to the base, Slade doesn’t stay still, he keeps up with a few more short hard thrusts that gets Jason feeling every last ridge and prominent vein of his cock buried in him.

As Slade pulls out with a groan, Jason had fully intended that he would need to beg for Bruce to do it too. But Bruce doesn’t pause, pushes inside while he leans down and kisses Jason again. It's far from bruising and maybe that's what Jason enjoys about it when he is almost sinking bodily into the kiss with a whimper.

He can feel their hands overlapping one another over his hips, the two of them physically working him on Bruce’s cock. Tight grip, stuttering breaths, a gasp on his end and probably plenty of praises from them that he doesn’t have the cognitive ability to string together into something that can bring the flush across his body to a full fire. 

It’s every last little thing in perfect alignment. 

Bruce holds completely still when he comes, lets Jason feel the rush of semen as his cock pulses inside of him. Hot and cloying, splashing deep within him. It leaves him slumping in Bruce’s hold in an afterglow that tips into exhaustion, mumbling a protest with no real heat in it when Slade withdraws his grip from his hips. 

He means to tell them _no fighting_ but he really isn’t sure how it went after that because Jason’s eyes are sliding shut, giving in, passing out in Bruce’s embrace where it is warm and safe and the closest thing to what’s probably unconditional love even if there’s probably writing made in the margins with the prices to be paid in due time. Jason’s okay with all of that though. 

It feels like a stalemate, a taut push and pull holding at the precipice. A sort of calm before the storm even though it already looks like they are standing in the aftermath of a disaster zone.

“He’s a sweet kid.” Slade says when he is straightening up his clothes, sucks his thumb into his mouth and rubs at what’s probably a cum stain on the seat of his pants with spit.

It doesn't exactly go away.

Bruce has Jason curled up in his lap, sweat-soaked curls swept back from his forehead and tucked under his chin. The two of them are sitting at the piano bench while Jason's clothes remain strewn across the floor. The kid’s properly exhausted and he is breathing steadily out from his parted lips, their semen leaking from his pretty pink hole all puffy from use, being shared between them. 

“He’s not yours.” The man bites out in response.

Bruce’s glare is a match to Batman himself, and Slade has to grin at how easy it is to drag the Bat out of hiding even when they are so far from the bowels of Gotham. Slade laughs sharply at that. Because the outright truth is that the kid is no one's, couldn't be his or _his_ even if they tried to keep him chained or tamed.

Slade fixes the loosened knot of his tie, brings himself to looking just a little unlike himself once more.

“Better watch it Wayne, or he might not be yours for long either.” 

It’s a fair warning. And just before he leaves, Slade makes sure the Bat can see the way he drags a pointed gaze from the top of Robin's head to his toes, lingering heavily over the curve of the kid's ass if just to irritate the man. 

It works like a charm.

Slade lets himself take a different route back to the grand hall where the gala is held, maps the manor out a little bit more. And if he deliberately walks into the crowd heading out the front door just in the peripherals of one Dick Grayson who showed up to the party perfectly late, well, Slade can hardly be faulted at the smirk that pulls sharply across his mouth to see the first boy wonder's baby blues widen in recognition.

Alarmed is a _very_ good look for Nightwing.

**Author's Note:**

> pls look out for a promptathon on tumblr (i'm [setsailslash](https://setsailslash.tumblr.com/tagged/kuro-writes)) that i'll be holding in the coming week or so to celebrate my 200 ao3 user subs :^DDDD
> 
> edit** [and my promptathon is live!](https://setsailslash.tumblr.com/post/190593009536/kuros-200subs-celebration-20-200w-drabbles-of)


End file.
